Never
by Adelina Le Morte March
Summary: There was a reason why Wendy and her brothers returned to London, rather than remaining in Storybrooke... Darkish mid-season 3 AU. Pairing: Peter Pan/Wendy Darling. One-shot.


**AN: For the record, I'm not a big fan of Once Upon a Time anymore (loved season one, liked some parts of season 2 and hated others, loved the first half -overall- of season 3, thought the second half's plot seemed lame/soapy, was disappointed Once In Wonderland got canceled, and gave up on the show and have no interest in watching season 4 ever). BUT when you get a one-shot idea that won't go away, well, what can you do but give in and write a little ditty for a fandom you no longer care for? LOL.**

 **This fic is (OBVIOUSLY) AU, so yes I am aware this is not how Pan dies in the actual series and that Peter/Wendy is not OUAT canon.**

 _NEVER_

 _A one-shot by Adelina Le Morte March_

Pan was never going to hurt anyone again. They'd made sure of that; they'd created a magical ankle-cuff that took away not only his magic but also his freedom.

Rumpelstiltskin's father couldn't so much as step out of the Storybrooke apartment without freezing in place.

Wholly unable to move, a sharp pain would jolt through his body, not stopping until he fell backwards into the safety of an enchanted house arrest.

It also sent a small jolt into his captors -Emma, Mr. Gold, and Regina- whose magic had so painstakingly gone into the cuff. This, so that they could immediately be alerted of his escape attempt.

They probably deserved as much, given that the cuff's creation had cost them so dear, physically exhausting them nearly to the point of death. A great deal of suffering which could have avoided through simply killing him and having done with it.

Peter would never let himself feel gratitude for this supposed act of mercy. It was, after all, probably his cowardly son's idea. Rumple always _had_ been too terrified and squeamish to do what needed to be done. Kill his own father? Yeah, right.

"You realize we're eventually going to have to make a decision about him, right?" Emma asked Mr. Gold as he limped down the narrow stairwell carrying a tray full of his father's dirty lunch dishes. "We can't keep this up forever."

"Just give it a few more days," Mr. Gold suggested, trying to keep his tone steady. "I want a chance to speak with him before... Before we do anything _hasty_."

"Then speak with him," sighed Regina, her arms folded across her chest as she wondered why she'd even bothered to show up, having known perfectly well there wouldn't be any change. "I think we'd _all_ like to get this over with." For once, she actually looked to Emma for back up.

Emma couldn't help but agree. Her personal sympathy for Peter Pan was practically nonexistent at this point. She pitied the lost boys, but not _him_. Not after all he'd done.

Still, he _was_ Mr. Gold's father...

"He still won't talk to me," Mr. Gold admitted. "Listen, just give it a few more days. Maybe his pride will cool off."

"Well, if his spirit doesn't break, I'm going to break _him_ ," Regina threatened, unfolding her arms and shaking a fist.

"Come now," argued Mr. Gold; "you ladies don't really want to waste all the magic that went into this, do you?"

"Okay, Gold, tell you what: we keep this going for three more days," Emma offered. "If he still isn't talking after that, then we all agree he needs to be moved."

None of them were really sure what 'moved' was a euphemism for in this case, but it wasn't something that was going to be easy for Mr. Gold to accept. Yet Emma's offer was more than fair, given the magnitude of the situation.

"Deal," he agreed. "Three more days."

* * *

Wendy Darling couldn't sleep. She was overjoyed to be back with her brothers, but had not be prepared for what it would feel like suddenly being their _little_ sister.

They were grown men now, and thanks to her time as Pan's prisoner in Neverland, she still had the appearance of a small girl no more than Henry's age.

It hadn't mattered one bit, on the journey back. All she'd cared about then was seeing them again. Now, much as she loved Michael and John, it felt unnatural. It didn't help, either, that in addition to suddenly being near-parental figures to her they looked so much like their parents. Dear Mr. and Mrs. Darling, whom Wendy knew had been dead for over a century.

What she needed was some time to clear her head and readjust to all this. John and Michael wouldn't let her out of their sight, save to go to bed in the loft they currently occupied in Mary Margret's building, far too afraid of losing her again.

So, nothing else for it, Wendy tied her sheets together and climbed out the window. The wind whipped at her bare legs under her nightdress. She remembered what it had been like, so long ago, to fly away to Neverland with the Shadow that first time. Bae had tried so hard to warn her, to tell her the price magic always demanded. But, alas, she'd been so young and in love with the romanticized ideals of magic, utterly unwilling to listen.

Once her bare feet touched the cold street and she'd pulled her robe securely around her for the limited warmth it offered, she took off running.

She wasn't sure where -or to who- she was running, but it felt good. Almost like flying.

Flying, without the price.

Not quite sure why, she stopped automatically in front of an old apartment building, panting for breath. She put out her hand and leaned against a fire hydrant, slowly taking in her surroundings.

She knew this house. Well, sort of. They were keeping Pan prisoner here. Her brothers hadn't told her this, of course, thinking it would open emotional scars to know where the man/boy who'd held her hostage all these years was being kept. However, the part of her that was still a child made her excellent at spying and eavesdropping, and she'd heard them speaking to Rumpelstiltskin about it.

A strange desire to go on in, up those stairs, and be face to face, finally on an equal level with Peter filled her.

Even after all he'd done, she didn't truly hate him. She hated what he'd done to her brothers, the pain he'd put them through, but she didn't hate _him_. Mostly, she pitied him. Imagine being so afraid to be a grown up, to face your own lot in life, you'd give up everything -your son, your current body, even your own name- just for the hope of staying eternally young.

In a sick, sad way, she identified with him. During his first childhood, before he'd grown up and sired Rumple, he might not have been so very different from her. Likely, he'd believed in magic; marveled at it, as she had marveled at the Shadow. To find out, when you finally got to the place you'd been dreaming of all your life you were too _old_ to fly! What must that have done to his psyche?

It didn't excuse what he'd done. Hurting Henry was wrong, and even though he was safe now, probably asleep in his own bed snoring away the night, Wendy would never forgive herself for the role _she'd_ played in that.

All the same, Peter might just be, she realized, the only one who understood what it was like to be at such a misplaced age and all the confusion that came with it. His son looked older than him, just like her brothers were older than her now.

Yes, if there was no one to stop her, no one to remind her that this was pure madness -and simply too dangerous- she'd _like_ to go in and see him.

* * *

Peter had taken to sleeping with a bread knife. You had to be careful, in a town like this. In Neverland, he'd rarely had a need to be this paranoid. At least, not before the sand in the hourglass had started to disappear all too rapidly...

He heard the door open, followed by light footsteps. Whoever it was would never take him alive. At least, as cowardly Rumple's prisoner, he had the option of not speaking. His son would never torture him beyond the spell on the ankle-cuff to keep him in place.

Clutching the bread knife's hilt, Pan threw back the covers and sprung at the intruder, grasping their wrist.

It was surprisingly tiny, and he recognized the frightened gasp even before switching on the light. "Oh, it's you."

"Yes, me," murmured Wendy, her wide eyes watching as he lowered the knife.

"I didn't think I'd see you again," he told her. "What are you doing here?"

"I-" Wendy stammered. "I... I wanted to talk to you."

"Talk to me?" He raised his eyebrows. "Don't you mean kill me? You're not the first to come here like this, in the middle of the night, seeking revenge." Peter smiled a slow, creepy smile as he stretched out his arm at a pile of household goods stacked behind a low sofa. "But, as you can see, I can be very persuasive, even without magic."

Yes, Wendy knew he was charismatic, and very good at making people do what he wanted. Still, the sheer amount of gifts left by would-be revenge seekers was fairly impressive.

"So, dear Wendy, I hope you've brought me a housewarming present." Peter sighed and threw himself backwards onto the sofa, lifting his arms behind his head. "Not that I'm going to do anything to you if you didn't." He chuckled to himself. "Probably."

In spite of the nervousness rushing through her veins, Wendy half-wanted to smile. Rummaging through her robe pocket, she found only some red-colored lint and a thimble. "Will this do?"

Peter seemed amused. "Very good, Wendy. Why don't you go ahead and put it in the pile?"

She did so.

His eyes darted to the cushion next to his. "Have a seat."

Willing herself not to tremble as memories of how much Peter frightened her sometimes rushed back into her mind -far, far too late- she sat and began busying herself smoothing out her nightdress.

"So, if you're not stupid enough to try and kill me like the others," he asked, "to what do I owe the pleasure?"

"I had some things I wanted to ask you about."

"Go on, then."

"Your name isn't really Peter, is it?"

He tensed visibly. "What makes you say that?"

"Rumpelstiltskin says it's Malcolm. That you took the name Peter Pan from his doll."

Peter gnashed his teeth at her. "My name's _Peter_."

She gulped. "Is it strange for you?"

"Is _what_ strange for me?"

"Having your son be so much older?" She braved his gaze, meeting his eyes, thinking she found something surprisingly vulnerable there she hadn't seen in Neverland. "It's strange for me, with my brothers." Her eyes darted down into her lap.

"Oh, yes, so how _was_ the Darling family reunion?"

"Lovely," she said, looking up at him again. "At first."

He stretched his arm out carelessly.

"Why did you _do_ this to us, Peter?" Wendy asked, distressed. "Why couldn't you just ask for my help, instead of imprisoning me in a cage and threatening my brothers? You took my whole life away."

"If you're looking for an apology you won't get it from me," he assured her, his expression darkening. "I saved you a lifetime of disappointments. Do you know what its like to be a grown up, Wendy? Much worse than a few years in a cage.

"As long as you were in that cage, you still had someone looking out for you, food delivered every day... And just look how much your brothers loved you! Enough to do anything I asked just to keep you from harm. Do you really think they would have gone on loving you as much if you were in their faces every day, being a regular older sister? You'd all be dead by now, if it weren't for me; after long, uneventful, unmagical lives."

"I never thought of it that way," admitted Wendy. Poor boy; what did _he_ know of familial love?

"I knew from the minute the Shadow brought you to Neverland we shared a love of magic."

"Why didn't you try to bring me to your side, like the lost boys?"

"Because, Wendy, you have to be _lost_ for that." He shrugged. "You never were. You always knew exactly what you wanted; just like me."

"You admired me," Wendy realized, stunned.

"Same as I admire myself."

"Do they...Regina, and Rumpelstiltskin, and Emma, and Bae...do they treat you well?"

"You tell _me_." He lifted his ankle to show her the cuff. "This is _my_ cage."

Wendy felt a shiver run through her body. "I should go... My brothers will be worried if they check in on me and I'm not in my bed."

Peter slowly rose from the sofa, watching as she prepared to cross the threshold forbidden to him. He realized, right then, that this was the most exciting thing to happen since they'd put him under house arrest. "Will you come back and see me tomorrow?"

"I suppose I could..." What harm could it do? He could never leave the apartment, never entrap her to use as pawn again. "When?"

"You can come after dinner," he suggested. "My dear laddie never looks in on me after that."

* * *

"I don't like it," Regina said, her eyes dark with suspicion. Even after all they'd been through, she never could stop thinking Mr. Gold was up to something, trying to find the smallest and most irritating of loopholes. "It isn't what we agreed on."

"We agreed, dearie, that something would be done at the end of three days," Mr. Gold reminded her, polishing the counter of his shop with a rag. "That he would be moved." He tapped the side of a wastebasket with his foot, opening the lid and dropping the rag inside. "And he will be."

"Then what's all this nonsense about a potion I've been hearing David and Mary Margret going on about?" Regina demanded.

"The potion I am attempting to concoct will take away his youth. Goodness knows he's had it long enough. He will be back to the age he was when he abandoned me. Then all we have to deal with is Malcolm, no more Pan."

"Well, I certainly hope you have a literal place to move _Malcolm_ to. Because just moving his age bracket doesn't fly with me."

"I was actually thinking," said Mr. Gold, with a notable edge to his tone, "that perhaps he could stay in that lovely little cell you kept Belle locked up in for twenty-eight years."

"I suppose he could."

Mr. Gold stepped out from behind the counter, leaning heavily on his cane. "Something is still troubling you; what is it?"

"How do you plan to make him drink this potion?" she asked skeptically. "You can't even make him _talk_ to you."

"Oh, don't you worry your pretty little head about that. He's going drink it if I have to pour it down his throat myself."

* * *

"I brought something for you this time," Wendy told Pan, handing him a cloth napkin filled with sugar cookies. "I thought, even if they're bringing you three meals a day, they probably don't give you sweets."

"You're right," Peter told her, mouth full, already gorging himself. "They don't."

After the cookies were all gone save one, which he (with surprising graciousness) offered back to Wendy, they resumed talking like they had the night before.

A little more comfortable with her now, Peter found himself confessing his hatred for his son. "I still remember those big eyes staring up at me, when he was a pink, naked, squalling babe; how he drained everything from me. My good name, my money, any hope of a better life... I had dreams, you know, before he came along. Dreams of adventures and magic, and making a life that would be remembered for generations. That all disappeared when he came into the picture. Even now I wonder if I'll ever be rid of him."

"He _was_ only a baby," Wendy felt the need to interject. "It wasn't his fault."

Peter snorted contemptuously. "He wasn't only a baby. He was a baby that took after _her_."

"Her?" she echoed. "Rumpelstiltskin's mother? What was she like?"

"A coward, and a liar," growled Peter, digging his nails into his palms. "Very like her son."

"What did she do to you?"

"Tricked me into believing she wanted the same things in life I did. Tricked me out of my fortune. And, finally, worst of all, tricked me into having a son." He scowled and his brow furrowed automatically. "And then what did my dear lady do but run off with the first tavern man who took her fancy. Leaving _me_ with that life-eating larva she called a babe."

"That must have been awful for you," Wendy said softly. "Having to look after him all on your own."

He shrugged bitterly. "That's the way with women, Wendy. Girls are all right. I daresay sometimes one girl can be worth more than twenty boys. The only trouble is they grow up to be women. Convincing, nosy women. I spared you that unsightly transformation; keeping you in Neverland."

"You don't know that I'll be horrid when I grow up," she murmured to her lap. "You can't truly _know_ that."

He reached over and lifted her chin. "You're right, I can't. But naturally the odds are far from being in your favor."

"John says I have a women's chin already; that I'm starting to look like our mother."

Peter squinted. "How can he _tell_?"

"Our mother..." Wendy paused for a moment; remembering that Mrs. Darling was dead was always painful. "Everybody said our mother had one kiss that no one could ever get. My brothers say I do, too."

"Is that so?" He carelessly brought his mouth to hers, heartlessly giving Wendy Darling her first kiss and taking her sole inheritance from her mother at the same time. "I think I just got yours. Rather easily, too, if I might say so."

She stared at him, feelings tugging her every which way. He was a monster who kept her imprisoned in Neverland...he was only a boy...he was not a boy _really_ , but Rumpelstiltskin's father who refused to stay a grown up... And yet the feelings came. She thought she might be falling in love with him.

Peter rose from the sofa and, unearthing a record player he'd somehow coerced from one of his would be killers, offered his hand to her. "Dance with me," he ordered.

* * *

They had danced, and he had been wonderful. Wendy had never known what a fabulous dancer he was. It made sense, though. He always had been the best at every game in Neverland; it was a given that he should be graceful and nimble.

When it was over they had flopped backwards onto his bed, exhausted, their fingers still interlocked.

"You have to go soon, I'd imagine?" Peter said, breaking the silence.

Wendy sighed. "I can stay a while longer. I keep forgetting that John and Michael are grown ups now, and can't see anything that isn't right in front of them. The pillow I left under the blankets might as well be me, as far as they're concerned. Until morning, anyway."

"Can I tell you something?"

"Of course." She turned her head to face him, discovering he'd pulled himself closer. Their foreheads lightly touched.

"If we were back in Neverland, I'd do something nice for you." The corners of his mouth turned up. "I would let you out of your cage and make you the mother of the lost boys. We would be in charge together, as partners. I wouldn't make the mistake of disrespecting you, or blackmailing you, again."

"Oh, Peter..." There was no way of knowing for certain he was telling the truth, but his words touched Wendy deeply all the same.

"Can you forgive me?"

"Yes, of course I can!"

"I'll miss you, when they move me."

"They're moving you?" Wendy squeezed his hand.

"Yes, they think I don't know, but sound travels in the stairwell."

"Where are they taking you?"

"They haven't said."

"Can I still visit you there?"

Peter squeezed her hand in return. "I doubt your brothers would let you."

She tried to fight back tears, unwilling to show weakness to him after all those lovely things he'd said. Obviously he held her in higher regard than she'd once imagined.

* * *

It was far too risky for her to be returning, he wasn't even sure if he should expect her back this last night, and yet here Wendy was, rushing into the apartment, breathless with excitement.

"Peter! I've been thinking and thinking it all over since I left, and I believe I've figured out what you can tell Rumpelstiltskin and the others when they come to move you."

"And what is that?" Peter asked, taking a step towards her.

"You can tell them you're sorry, and that you'll be good from now on," she blurted. "They might not want to listen at first, but if I put in a good word for you with Bae... He _is_ your grandson, after all, as well as my friend... Maybe they'll let you stay here, in Storybrooke, with the other children. You'd have to go to school, of course, and learn everything all over, but..." She saw something in his face harden. "What is it? What's wrong?"

"Where exactly do your brothers think you are right now, Wendy?"

"With Henry at the arcade, playing whack-a-mole."

"You had better get back there then, before someone comes in and sees you here."

"But Peter," she implored, "what do you _think_? Can you tell them you're sorry?"

He shook his head. "I'm not sorry. All I did was what needed to be done. For me, for Neverland. I won't apologize to _them_. Especially not to my useless son."

This time, Wendy couldn't help her eyes filling up with visible tears. "But they're going to take you away, and I-"

She was silenced with a kiss as his arms wrapped around her waist, pulling her closer. Her arms stretched up, her wrists locking behind his neck.

One of his arms still clutching her waist, holding her to him, Peter lifted a hand and caressed her cheek while continuing to kiss her. Not once, nor twice, but close to a half-dozen times, getting the same in return.

She unclasped her wrists, letting her hands slide down to his chest.

"Oh dear God," moaned an irritated voice from the doorway.

Wendy and Peter broke apart. Wendy spun around to look at the door, only to see Regina, Emma, Mr. Gold, David Nolan, and her brothers standing there, all five of them looking utterly disgusted.

* * *

"Well, isn't this an interesting little development," Regina added (she'd been the one "Oh dear God"ing, as the others had been too shocked to speak right away). "You got a plan for this one, Gold?"

"What is going on here?" Mr. Gold's eyes seared into Pan's unflinching face.

"Isn't it obvious, laddie?" Peter asked cockily. "Wendy Darling's fallen in love with me."

"That's disgusting," Emma said, taking a step forward. "He's Rumpelstiltskin's _father_."

A squeak came out of Wendy's throat. Then, "I don't _care_." It didn't matter what he called himself. Pan, Peter, Malcolm... Whoever he was, she'd still managed to fall in love with him in less than three days. She even wondered if maybe she had simply loved him all along, even back in Neverland when he was her captor.

"Gentlemen, please be so good as to escort your sister from this room," Mr. Gold said slowly. "My father and I have some matters to discuss that are not for a child's ears."

"But I'm _not_ a child!" cried Wendy, her eyes darting from Mr. Gold to her brothers and then back to Pan imploringly. "Well, I suppose I _am_ , but I'm still older than John and Michael."

However true that might have been, such was not the case to the eyes of the adults in the room. Even Emma, who knew the strangeness of being near the same age as her parents, who'd seen her old friend August turned back into a little boy before her eyes, couldn't think of Wendy Darling as anything but a child.

"Take her and go," Mr. Gold ordered.

"No, no, please!" Wendy begged, reaching for Peter's hand as her brothers began to pull her away. "He can be good, I _know_ he can! He's just a boy afraid of growing up... Give him another chance. Peter, _tell_ them. Tell them you'll be good! Just be a _little_ bit sorry, that's all you need to be...just a little bit..."

" _Wendy_ ," said Peter, clucking his tongue and shaking his head. "You really should know me better than that." He jerked his hand away. "I admit I've rather enjoyed our two nights together." He smirked, not cruelly but with enough cheek to enrage nearly everybody in the room, particularly Wendy's brothers. "But I won't apologize." His eyes bore with nothing but pure hatred into the face of his son. "I will _never_ be that desperate."

"That's what I thought," Regina snapped, turning to Mr. Gold. " _Now_ can I kill him?"

"I'm almost tempted to let you," he admitted. "But no." He took a step towards his father. "You're _going_ to grow up, Papa, and you're going to like it."

"And how are you planning on making me do that?" he asked cockily.

"I won't discuss this any further with that girl in the room." Mr. Gold looked at Wendy's brothers again. "If she won't be removed, simply throw her over your shoulder and leave. I don't want to see her back here again."

Wendy sobbed as John, much to her mortification, lifted her up as if she weighed no more than a doll. It reminded her of the time her father had caught her running around in the wrong part of London after escaping the nursery. She'd been playing with a bricklayer's children, making mud pies, and he'd simply given her a look that was half full of relief from finding her and half full of disappointment at her current unclean state. Both her brothers had that same expression now. And while fighting to stay had been easy enough when they were just pulling her, she was reduced back to a naughty nine year old playing with the wrong crowd all over again, unable to get down or squirm out of John's grasp, so very, very like Mr. Darling's.

She was awarded no more than one last, fleeting, glimpse of Peter's unmoved, stony expression.

* * *

Locked in a tiny cell? Peter could deal with that. There was always the off-chance some delightful dimwit would accidentally release him, giving him a chance for escape and revenge, after all. Even if it took a while, as long as his youth lasted, he had all the time in the world.

Being forced to take a potion that would steal away the wonderful identity he'd made for himself? No more Peter Pan? Just Malcolm? That, he could not endure.

Thank God, he thought, I convinced one of my lovely visitors to leave me a pistol with a single shot left.

It had been Killian Jones, actually. And he'd agreed a bit too eagerly. Perhaps he'd truly hoped Peter would end it all; take the gentlemen's way out.

To Peter, though, it never was about being a gentleman, or _any_ sort of man. It was purely about not being there when his bothersome son showed up with that potion, the queen at his side, gloating...

Death was better than life as a grown up. Especially a grown up with no allies. No lost boys, no power, no Neverland.

"So, Rumpelstiltskin wants me to be a grown up." He lifted the pistol and pressed it against his temple. "I'm afraid I'm going to have to disappoint you again, laddie."

* * *

He was still a boy when they found him, in a pool of blood draining from his head. (It would be several days later, when they were getting him ready for cremation -because no one in Storybrooke felt comfortable about his remains being buried anywhere in town- that he would revert to Malcolm.)

"I can see where you got your flare for drama from, Gold," Regina commented dryly.

David bent down and examined one of Pan's hands. "Why is there a thimble on his pinky?"

"Who knows?" Mr. Gold scraped his cane across the floor. "I suppose the important thing is we don't have to worry about him anymore."

"What about Wendy Darling?" David wondered aloud.

"What _about_ her?" Neal stared down at his dead grandfather, thinking sadly of his little friend who never could stay away from bad magic. He'd thought she might have learned her lesson when the Shadow nearly destroyed her family, but no, she'd fallen for Peter's magical charms all too easily.

"Is she going to hear about this?"

"Nope," said Neal. "She's leaving today, anyway. There's no point in upsetting her."

"Her brothers have decided to move back to London," Emma explained. "They think a change of scenery might do her some good."

* * *

Wendy watched numbly as her brothers loaded the suitcases into the back of the car. Bae and Henry had come to say goodbye, but no one else had, and no one would tell her anything about Peter.

All she'd wanted to know was that he was unharmed, safe wherever they'd moved him to, but no one would confirm this for her.

Worse, every time she even spoke his name, her brothers asked her all kinds of strange, anxious questions she didn't quite understand. She might feel, at times, far beyond her physical appearance, but Neverland hadn't prepared her for questions such as these. She'd spent too little time in the real world to grasp why her brothers felt they needed to know if -and exactly _where_ \- Peter had touched her. They seemed to think he'd hurt her in some ugly way they refused to detail.

"He only kissed me," Wendy had told them truthfully. "It was all right; I wanted him to."

John and Michael had then exchanged an expression of relief Wendy wouldn't comprehend for a few years yet.

"Come on, Wendy," Michael said, opening the door to backseat. "Time to go."

John popped the trunk, tossed in a picnic cooler, then slammed it shut.

"Goodbye, Bae." Wendy gave Neal one last quick hug.

Henry waved as she pulled away from his father and slid into the car.

She waved back as Michael closed the door behind her.

As they sped out of town -so they wouldn't miss their fight, John said- they drove down the street where Peter's apartment/prison had been.

Her window was only halfway down. Just enough to grasp the top of the glass and stick her head out, watching as the golden afternoon sun disappeared behind the rooftop.

* * *

So the story ends the way all stories about Peter Pan must.

Wendy has her chance to grow into adulthood and live her life, for many years wondering if she'll ever see him again, then slowly, at times even _painfully_ learns to forget.

And Peter never grows up.

The End


End file.
